


I've Seen Diamonds

by greedy_dancer



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Blanket Permission, M/M, Podfic Available, Podfic Welcome, Porn Battle, Porn with Feelings, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 15:02:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greedy_dancer/pseuds/greedy_dancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He knows that in order to get James back, he must first deal with Bond.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Seen Diamonds

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XIV for the prompts: safe, shaking, identity (except then I missed the deadline to post in the actual entry >.>). Title from Chris Cornell's "You Know My Name" (Casino Royale theme song, because I am super original): _I've seen diamonds cut through harder men_.
> 
> Thanks to Concinnity, Verymilkytea and Jedusaur for the encouragement and beta.

 

Q can tell right away, as he pushes open the door to his flat, that today is one of those days.

Usually, if James is there, there will be light and music, some of that terrible jazz that he favours, and maybe the smell of curry wafting through the flat.

Right now, the only sign that someone is there – despite Q making his fortnightly change to the alarm code while Bond was in Teheran – is that the shower is running. Has been running for a while, considering the amount of steam escaping into the hallway.

Q drops his keys and mail on the side table, toes off his shoes, and shrugs off his coat. He turns on all the lights on his way to the living room, where he takes a moment to feed the fish.

On most other days, he would open a beer and pick up his laptop while he waits for James to emerge, tousled and damp.

Tonight, he drinks a glass of water from the tap and heads for the bathroom.

The steam is thick enough to blind him when he pushes the door open and steps in, but even through the blurriness he sees Bond turn his head to look at him. Bond doesn’t say anything, though. He just stares at Q, waiting.

They never talk, not at this stage. Q’s learnt by now that any question will be met with stony silence, that any attempt to engage with Bond when he’s like this will only frustrate both of them more. So he just sheds his clothes with efficiency, carefully places his glasses on the counter alongside the half-empty bottle of scotch, and steps into the cubicle, hissing at the scalding water.

He wonders how long Bond has been there. Long enough for any blood to have washed off- thankfully, as Q doesn’t really relish the sight of it – but not long enough for his fingers to feel pruney when he wraps them around Q’s arm.

It’s not a sensual touch, Bond holding Q like that, but then again he didn’t expect it to be. This is about possession, about need. When Q looks up, Bond is staring at him with dark eyes.

Q nods.

He’s not surprised by this Bond anymore. He’s learnt that trying to talk at times like this only results in Bond walking away, his tracker placing him at various clubs and underground poker games all night. It takes him a day or two to resurface and drop by Q-Branch, eyes dim and knuckles taped, holding out mugs of tea like olive branches.

Q decided long ago that, while not ideal, this is better. It’s the fastest way to get them both what they want that doesn’t involve him lying awake all night in his empty bed, the afterimage of a blinking red dot imprinting itself everywhere, on the ceiling and behind his eyelids.

He knows that in order to get James back, he must first deal with Bond.

Q allows himself a touch, running his palm gently down Bond’s flank, before he turns around to brace against the tiles and spread his legs.

A rumble comes from Bond’s throat just before Q feels him step forward, pressing against Q’s back as he reaches for the lube in the shower jockey.

Bond is clinical in his touches. It’s paradoxical, really, that he could be so close to Q and still feel so distant, but if there’s one thing Q has learnt to accept over the months it’s that trying to fit James Bond into an unproblematic narrative is a doomed enterprise.

All of Bond’s movements have a purpose right now, hands deftly working to further his goal. Q takes in a deep breath and relaxes as best he can when Bond’s fingers enter him, arching back and adjusting his stance to make it easier.

There is no pain, because despite the lack of tenderness, Bond’s touch is gentle. He takes great care never to hurt Q, never to hurry things along too much. Q thinks it’s part of the process, that it must help soothe Bond in some way, his breathing slowing down even as Q’s picks up.

A shiver travels up Q’s spine when Bond finds his prostate and rubs; he reaches down to wrap a hand around his own cock and stroke himself, feeling his cock hardening in his hand.

Then Bond’s pressing in, the implacable pressure making Q’s body tighten for a second before he can get it under control and relax again, pushing back against it until he is completely speared on Bond’s cock.

There are a couple of seconds where nothing happens, just the throb of being filled, the pounding of water on his skin, Bond’s breaths on his neck, and then Bond starts thrusting and Q’s mouth falls open.

When Q’s being honest with himself, he has to admit that he enjoys this more than is probably healthy. No matter how much he rationalises it as taking care of Bond to get him back to himself, there is a part of Q that loves being taken like this, wordlessly; a part of him that gets off on being used by one of the most dangerous men alive.

He doesn’t like to dwell on the thought because it feels like a betrayal. Q knows the reason Bond needs him like this is that he has to lose himself into something when he comes back from torturing and killing people. It’s almost like fucking Bond is a betrayal of James.

And yet, grunts are being forced out of Q, the brutal slap of flesh on flesh and the crude squelch of Bond’s cock sliding in and out of his ass bringing him inexorably closer to his orgasm.

Q keeps stroking himself until Bond slaps his hand away and takes over, gripping him tight and rough and so perfect Q can’t help the moan that escapes his mouth. He forgets about the water and tilts his head back, and between the water and the way Bond is stroking him mercilessly, twisting and rubbing at the head of his cock, Q is drowning in all senses of the word, powerless in the face of his orgasm.

Nothing he could do right now would keep it at bay, not pinned like he is between Bond’s hand and his cock, rubbing him inside and out. He keens and lets himself go, coming in Bond’s hand.

There are a few seconds of respite when Bond withdraws, still hard as a rock, making Q hiss, but soon Q is being turned around and hoisted up and Bond is piercing him again with one stroke.

It’s a lot to take now that he’s come; Bond feels huge and unyielding inside of him, but there’s no way he’s going to stop this, not when Bond’s mask of impassibility is starting to slip and his arms are tightening around Q. Bond’s breath is coming quick and ragged now, and it’s only a minute or so before he buries his face into Q’s neck, mouth open against his skin, and comes with a hoarse cry.

Q stays as still as he can, running his fingers through Bond’s hair, cupping the back of his neck, thumb stroking back and forth, back and forth, while Bond breathes through the shudders still wracking him.

There’s a sigh and then Q’s put back on the ground, carefully. The water is turned off and when Q looks up, it’s James’ eyes that meet his.

James looks at Q, weary and brittle and exhausted, but _there_. He cups Q’s jaw gently and Q gratefully tips his head back to bring their mouths together for the first time tonight. James exhales against Q’s lips, a long, slow stream of air like he’s letting go of everything held inside himself.

The kiss is chaste at first, small presses of their lips together like they’re re-learning each other, but finally James opens his mouth and bites at Q’s lower lip, dragging his teeth against it, teasing his tongue inside Q’s mouth, and Q responds eagerly, opening to it.

The rush of emotion that comes over Q right then takes him a few seconds to parse. There’s the relief he hadn’t let himself feel yet about James making it back; a fierce protectiveness of him; a wave of useless retroactive fear and an inextricable combination of pride and anger that Bond keeps putting his life on the line, over and over.

And there’s something else that grips his throat like a vice, but he won’t name it. Instead, he tightens his arms around James and kisses him some more.

Q’s covered in goose bumps and panting again by the time they separate, but it’s not until James reaches between them with a small smile that he realises he’s getting hard again.

“Need help with that?” James asks as he wraps a wide, calloused hand around Q’s cock. Q can’t help but push into his grip a little, even though he doesn’t have any intention of starting anything right now.

Later, he knows, he will be able to ask James for anything he wants, because James will be as attentive and eager to please as he was demanding before, as if trying to make amends. Q won’t try to tell him there’s nothing to apologize for; he’s learnt not to question it too much. Instead, he'll get to enjoy James’ thoroughness and dedication to making him come as many times as he can and sometimes once more after that.

Later, Q will get James’ hands everywhere on him, like James is relearning him, like they’re doing this for the first time. Q will get to touch James, to check for new bruises and cuts and burns, to reassure himself that James has been returned to him as unscathed as possible, if only physically.

Later still, they will lie in bed together, glasses and cigarettes dangling from their tired hands, and James will talk; about some insignificant detail of the landscape that caught his eye or the way he watched someone die. Q will listen, silent but for the hums in the right places. He will listen and then reach for James and they’ll both pretend Q’s the one who needs the contact.

Right now, though, Q is content to kiss James some more, shivering in the cooling air, damp and hungry and sore; squinting up until James reaches towards the counter and puts Q’s glasses back onto his nose.

“Hello there,” Q says, smiling as James swipes a strand of wet hair stuck to his forehead. “Welcome back.”

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] I've Seen Diamonds by greedy_dancer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/667778) by [fire_juggler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fire_juggler/pseuds/fire_juggler)




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